Operation Falchion
by Polyus
Summary: The U.S. Government has decided that Cameron Campbell has crossed the line, and deploy a nightmarish weapon to teach him the error of his ways. Max becomes the first to encounter this modern Prometheus.
1. Dies Irae

_It is impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror... Horror has a face... and you must make a friend of horror…_

Darkness had fallen at Camp Campbell, yet there was still one child unaccounted for. This, of course, was Max, who was currently wandering through the woods plotting the latest scheme weapon in his continual war on mortal enemy, _David_. His name alone made Max's blood boil with rage. That brain-dead, optimistic, naïve, _wretched, hateful, piece of shit fucker DAVID._ Max's entire body trembled with white hot _fury_. _How_ could _anyone like him exist!_ he thought savagely.

He had to be high on _something_ to be that goddamn cheerful all the time. Oh, but he would make David pay. But not just David, he remembered. His enemies list had only recently expanded to include that stupid magician, Harrison. Damn them. Damn all of them! He had been unable to sleep for over a week, due to his seemingly endless vomiting up of cards and other magic bullshit. He was so tired of all this crap, so tired of being stuck in this camp and not even having anywhere else to go. The rage overcame him, all other thoughts being driven out of his mind. He lashed out, and punched the nearest tree with all his might, focusing his unbridled hatred. This had been a mistake, as incredible pain jolted through him in an instant.

"FUCK!" he shrieked. His hand was bleeding quite badly already. He briefly considered going back to the camp to get it treated. _No, I won't give him the fucking satisfaction._ And so he continued further into the forest, hoping to find something that would make them both suffer…

Twenty thousand feet above the cauldron of anger, the matte black XV-34 tiltrotor, codenamed _Necromancer_ , cruised over the lakeside forest, preparing to airdrop its classified payload. The pilot listened to the muted roar of the enormous pair of contra-rotating propellers and the powerful turboprops that drove them, and reminisced about the short life of his unique aircraft. _Necromancer_ had been constructed as a flying laboratory a year prior, and was one of several such aircraft converted as such for Project Golem. Golem had originated at the Ravenwood National Laboratory in Montana, and had quickly risen to be one of the highest-budgeted and most classified black projects in the history of the United States government. Not even the President had been briefed on its existence so far. _It_ , the pilot considered. The scientists always referred to Golem as _he_ , yet it was always to be described as 'It', according to his superiors. Well, he wasn't payed to ask questions, and in fact, he was being paid very handsomely to keep his mouth shut as much as possible, and the pilot could live with that.

Several meters behind him, a group of scientists were running final checks on Golem. A few still referred to it—him—by his original name, One, as they had hoped he would be the first of many. Alas, this was not to be. For all the vast amounts of money that was poured into the program, they got a machine that spent a disproportionate amount of time undergoing heavy maintenance back in Montana, especially wasteful considering how resistant the close-knit Special Forces were to a technology that could replace them, eventually. The scientists, however thought that Golem was well worth the monumental price. Golem was a gargantuan technological leap, without a doubt. It represented an advancement of forty or fifty years, _at least_. It was the first time the junior technicians had ever seen Golem; the most advanced humanoid robot ever created by man, by an exponential margin. It certainly was a sight to behold. Standing just over seven feet tall, Golem was designed as a tool of psychological warfare. Its frame was sleek, and almost entirely featureless, save for the few places where the gray synthetic muscle was visible. Its head was angular and too, was blank, except for his six glowing red eyes, arranged in two offset triangular patterns and set in a permanent scowl. Along with the array of sensors built into its heavily armored chassis, these were what fed information to his cybernetic "brain", which rivalled some of the most powerful supercomputers built. That, along with the miniaturized reactor that powered the cybernetic assassin, had been the most difficult piece to create— _as if there had been anything on Golem that was_ easy _to build,_ the senior scientist, Beaumont, remembered bitterly. It had been a Herculean challenge, but now it was paying off. He had been the one who had programmed Golem's personality; the little that it had was Beaumont's doing, ensuring that Golem had a dark sense of humor, if nothing else.

"We're good to go." a technician reported. "How you feelin'?" he asked, a hint of exuberance in his voice.

"Ready for combat. Battle computer online. All systems optimal," Golem replied emotionlessly.

 _Good_ , Beaumont thought. "Remember to leave something for the flyboys to clear up, they've practically got a whole company of hired guns down there!" He said, smiling now.

 _"Affirmative!"_ Golem had to raise his voice now, as _Necromancer's_ rear cargo had opened, the landscape below a uniform black. Golem gave a quick salute, turned on his heel, and dived out of the helicopter, his supply crate following shortly behind. Roughly six feet long and octagonal, the crate tapered to a point at each end, so it could easily be driven into the ground. Its dull grey appearance was deceiving, however, for it carried every tool and weapon Golem would need to flawlessly carry out his mission, and was equipped with a parachute and small retro-rockets to ensure a stable landing. Both it and Golem were now only five thousand feet above the ground and had hit terminal velocity. Activating his thermal sensors, Golem could see every lifeform in the rapidly-approaching forest. Including, Golem noted, what appeared to be a sub adult human. _This will get interesting…_

Max clutched his hand in agony, still in pain after the bleeding subsided. Max's fury, however, had only heightened. "Fuck David, fuck this pathetic camp, fuck these goddamn woods…" he muttered darkly. His brooding was interrupted, however, by a deafening crash as someone—some _thing_ —careened into the ground in front of him. As the dust settled, Max noticed that it was getting up from the perfect three-point landing it had made. As he stared up at the _thing_ once it had reached its full, and enormous, height, Max felt something he had not felt, or at least admitted he felt, in quite some time: fear. More than that, pure and absolute _terror._

It was painted a dull black, the only identifiable markings being a light gray '001' above what would be its right pectoral. Then, in a harsh, metallic voice it spoke _"Identify!"_


	2. Atmosphères

**Golem**

As he stood, he noticed a boy, no older than ten or eleven— _10.34 years_ —with an expression of unbridled terror on his face. The instant he looked at him he knew a thousand things about him—blood pressure, brain activity, lung flow, everything. But this incredible ability failed to extrapolate one key piece of information. "Identify yourself, now!" Golem repeated.

"Max." the boy replied, warily. Instantly his expression changed to one of boredom and seeming tranquility. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with already," he added, arms outstretched. Golem pondered this curious response.

"It is unusual for someone as young as you to accept death's embrace so willingly. Come with me." He ordered. Max, wisely deciding not to anger the murder-bot, followed.

"Why are you here? I can't think of anything in this shithole worth spying on. And why are you letting me come with you?" Max said.

"Cameron Campbell has a major laboratory on the other side of the lake. He's been using it to build weapons of mass destruction and other such high-tech implements of war and sell them to our enemies. He needs to be brought down. As to why I'm letting you come with me, who's going to believe you if you go around telling people you met a secret military robot?" Golem replied. Suddenly, he grabbed Max by the collar and yanked him towards his featureless skull.

"However, that does not mean you can blab about this to all your little brain-dead friends. In fact, if you tell a single soul, I will kill you in the slowest and most agonizing ways ever imagined. _Got it?_ "

"Got it." Max gulped.

"Good."

Golem continued, "The main reason I'm here is because of a nasty little fact The Hague found out about Campbell. Back during the war in Bosnia, he made millions selling nerve gas to the Serbians, who used in it several ethnic cleansing campaigns. We still don't know how many died."

"Jesus." Max shuddered. "I knew he was fucked up, but _this_ —"

"I agree. I think it's time that justice be served."

With that, they began walking through the forest with Golem leading them to an unknown destination. As they walked, Golem noticed a ragged hole in the back of Max's hoodie, and what looked suspiciously like a wound beneath it.

"How exactly did you get stabbed? You're _ten_."

"It's a long story," Max replied.

"Well, we have plenty of time and I'm interested to hear this, so start talking," Golem fired back.

Max sighed dramatically. "So, I was trying to escape this hellhole again—"

"Why do you want to escape so badly?"

"You just want me to tell you my whole life story, don't you?"

"Preferably."

 _ **Concord Air Force Base—Location Classified**_

Officially, of course, they didn't exist. None of it did.

The A-10s had been checked over one last time before takeoff, more because of superstition than anything else, and were taxiing already. On paper, these five Warthogs were part of the 185th Experimental Tactics Evaluation Squadron which did not exist. In reality, the aircraft stationed at Concord—known as "The Oasis" by those who called it home—belonged to the 1st Night Control and Combat Group, a purposefully vague title for what was effectively designed to provide air support for beyond-top secret missions.

Missions like Operation Falchion.

Much of the 1st NCCG consisted of prototypes that had been shown enough potential to be pressed into service, or even produced in miniscule numbers, long after they had been publicly cancelled and forgotten. The strike force for Falchion was one of the largest in memory. Five A-10 Warthogs, two A-37 Dragonflies, one OV-10 Bronco—Valkyrie Flight- armed with BLU-118 thermobaric explosives, tear gas rockets, laser-guided seventy-millimeter rockets, cluster munitions and Mk 82 five-hundred pound bombs. One FB-22 Strike Raptor, acting as an observation and recording platform. The _Necromancer_ itself was already on station, acting as mission commander and jamming aircraft. And lastly, the aircraft that were kept underneath the protective umbrella of their enormous, blast-proof hangars in a corner of the sprawling base. Their part would come in soon enough.

The men and women in the darkened control tower watched as the flight of A-10's heaved themselves into the night, straining with the weight of their ordnance, seemingly ascending into the sky on the hopes and prayers of those on solid ground. As if they were one person, a single parting thought entered their minds as the aircraft became invisible against the night sky.

 _Give him hell._

 **Ground "Team"**

"So you knew this child referred to himself as _Snake_ , had the voice of a brooding chain-smoker, wore an eyepatch, and yet you _still_ trusted him with your life?" Golem asked incredulously.

"I admit, it wasn't my best judgement, OK, but I was getting desperate for a way to escape," Max replied.

They had been on the lake for a few minutes now, having commandeered Camp Campbell's only motorboat. Max had grudgingly begun recounting of his time at the camp to Golem, who, to his credit, only interrupted him when Max got hopelessly lost on some furious tangent.

"You still haven't told me just _why_ you want to escape so badly, nor what, if anything, you planned to do after you made this daring escape. You're not exactly Roger Bushell, here."

" _Will you let me finish and save your fucking questions until then?!"_ Max snapped.

The boat shook unsteadily.

"Of course."

"So, anyways…"

 **Concord AFB**

Twenty minutes after Valkyrie Flight departed, three strategic bombers stood on the taxiway, free from their cavernous hangars. Nightingale Flight, as it was known, consisted of three B-1 strategic bombers that had been officially listed as scrapped, but in reality had been sent to the Oasis to be upgraded with powerful jamming equipment and F119 turbofans, enabling the B-1 to hit Mach 2.2. The three aircraft—known as the B-1F—represented a fifth of the Lancer force at Concord, and were referred to by the titles of their nose art; _Christine, Toxic Avenger,_ and _Love Gun_ , respectively. All of the pilots had their misgivings about conducting this sort of operation on American soil, and they were trained not to let this cloud their judgement, but something about this felt wrong, like they were going over an invisible line that should stay forever uncrossed.

 _This is something the enemy does_ , they thought. But these thoughts had then been overshadowed by the terrible knowledge of what could and would happen if this target were to remain intact, of the lives that would be in peril.

They knew the mission: _Terminate with extreme prejudice._

With strengthened resolve, Nightingale Flight departed with a roar as their afterburners kicked in, illuminating their matte black underbellies. They burned a streak of incandescent fire into the shadows ensconcing them as they screamed into the great onyx abyss of the night, their newly unshackled engines gorging themselves on a mix of jet fuel and warm summer air.

 _ **Washington, D.C.**_

The General had been in the middle of attending some fancy Congressional dinner that he couldn't give a damn about when his aide walked up to him, his face expressionless.

"Sir, Operation Falchion has begun."

General William Kilgore smiled at this excellent news.


	3. Lontano

_**Golem**_

The boy was surprisingly talkative, he had discovered. And quick to anger. _Possibility of mistreatment?_ Golem wondered. He had certainly not had an easy time since he had gotten to this camp, Golem had found. If Max's story was true, and he had seen no reason to doubt it, besides the inherent knowledge that everybody lies about something. Apparently, after being abducted by some militant Boy Scout-esque organization that operated on the lake, he had been beaten and tortured by said group until he had been belatedly rescued by his comrades. Max had the physical and mental scars to prove it, and he had shown them to Golem. _Sheer insanity._ Golem thought, as Max regaled him about some traumatizing incident that took place, unbeknownst to him, on the same island they were currently heading to.

"So, I wanted to prove to them that ghosts and shit like that doesn't exist, _which it doesn't_ , so I took them out to this island…and…we met this weird kid, Jasper…who…um, yeah…uh…w-why are we going to Spooky Island?" Max said, clearly disturbed.

"Well, a helicopter insertion would've just been a bloodbath because of the anti-air sites Campbell's men set up, and we can't just cross the lake by boat for pretty much the same reason. So we'll land on Island 804, traverse it on foot, and set up at a suitable location where I can terminate the guards and then go in and take out the missiles." Golem summarized. _Spooky Island? What drooling idiot thought of that one?_

Max put his head in his hands and groaned, resigned to his fate.

"You never finished your story. Something about apparitions. Please continue." Golem supplied helpfully.

Max sighed. "Y-Yeah, so we met this…kid and there was this old mansion…"

As Max talked, Golem's systems began dissecting and logging everything he said in the knowledge that some of it would be valuable in the future, which Golem already knew to be true. One thing in particular stuck out to him, however. Max mentioned meeting a boy on the island; a boy that no one saw journey there, and no of them ever saw leave. There was the remote possibility that this child had managed to survive on the island, but given similar cases...

As was common for him, Golem often ventured into the abstract and unconventional when confronted with a dilemma such as this. The boy clearly could not have survived, but there was the fact that multiple people had prolonged contact with…whatever it was that the boy had become. Either the boy was a ghost, an idea that was theoretically possible but rather unlikely, or Campbell's men had performed some type of illegal genetic experimentation on him and left him on the island to test his possible abilities.

He let out a vicious snarl as his apoplectic fury boiled to the surface and his few emotions went into overdrive. Max recoiled in shock at the sudden outburst.

"The fuck is wrong with you?!"

 _Just how much did they not bother to fucking tell me?!_ he thought savagely, completely ignoring Max. He hated not knowing things, especially when it came to missions as important as this. Had Campbell been working with the Army? Was that the real reason he was here, to test whatever unholy creations Campbell had concocted for his buddies in the Pentagon? Officially, genetic experimentation was taboo in Washington, but he knew some work had continued for far longer than had been publicly disclosed. During his initial descent, he had picked up an abandoned house on his sensors, a house with a suspiciously expansive basement. Investigating it would be a priority once they landed.

 _One thing is certain_ , Golem thought savagely, _if I find him when we reach this island, I'm going to torture a fucking answer out of him!_

Noticing his cohort's anger—he had crushed the steel flank of the boat in his fist—Max stopped talking, and was about to continue when he was interrupted by the boat beaching itself along the deep mud of Spooky Island.

"Come on," Golem barked as he hauled the small boat ashore.

Max stepped ashore and promptly tripped over a branch, landing on a branch and slicing a large gash on his forehead.

"Nice going, Jeremiah Johnson." Golem proceeded to retrieve a bandage.

 **Max**

 _It's amazing how quiet he is._ Max noticed as they prowled through the dense forest. Golem had to weigh hundreds of pounds and he was moving more silently than Max himself. Max giggled to himself as thought about possible uses for that,fantasizing about roping Golem into playing pranks on David and Gwen back at camp.

If he survived to tell Nikki and Neil, that is.

He thought about them, wondering how distraught they would be if he became another victim of this hellish camp. He realized how much it would truly suck if he lost them, his only real friends. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

He decided to continue to try and talk to Golem, as it was at least something to do.

"So, how do you exist, anyway? I thought we weren't supposed to have robots as advanced as you for, like, twenty years or something."

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Max looked at him quizzically. "There is more to many things than the shit you hear. I would've thought you of all people would know that by now. The truth is, a lot of countries have advanced shit that isn't 'supposed' to exist yet. Like the Russians have laser armed stealth satellites in geostationary orbit over twenty NATO cities, but they can't tell anyone that they have them because it would violate about a dozen international treaties and they're not supposed to be capable of that. And we can't tell them that we know about them because we're supposed to have gotten rid of the radar that can detect them. It's a very complicated and very dangerous game."

For once, Max felt he was learning something at Camp Campbell.

"And another thing—" He stopped, drew his combat knife and dropped to a crouching position.

"Patrol. Multiple contacts. Three hundred meters, north-northeast," he whispered. He was deathly still now, scanning ahead for more threats.

He was in his element now, which reminded Max of just how far outside his own he was.

Max only noticed the first black-clad Campbell goon right as Golem moved in for the kill.

With only a bare yard separating the two, he pounced. He drove the knife deep into the man's left jugular while simultaneously grabbing hold of his face and wrenching his head to the left, snapping his neck and letting his knife rent his throat and rip through the carotid arteries with the swift ferocity of an eagle, letting rivers of crimson blood gush forth out of the lifeless flesh and stream through Golem's metal digits.

He let the corpse drop to the ground, and was about to start hunting down the next patrol, when Max lost it.

"What the _fuck_ , man! Why'd you fucking kill him!?" he whisper-screamed.

"What else would I do, bring him with us? I'm carrying out a mission, not chaperoning a field trip here." Golem shot back.

"You could've just, I don't know, knocked him out or something! You didn't have to—"

"Bullshit, I didn't. You are not an idiot, Max, so stop being so damn emotional and use your damn brain. He had to die! First, he was working for Campbell, which means he's absolutely a mercenary or contract killer, he knew the risks and is being paid to ensure weapons of mass destruction are used against innocent people. Second, if I let him live, he would know of my existence, which cannot be allowed under any circumstances. Now, if you're too squeamish and morally opposed to keep going, go back to the fucking boat and wait for me; but if you'd rather something interesting happen for once in your dreary life that you constantly bitch about, come on! I've got some sick and twisted bastards to kill."

Max considered this. On one hand, continuing on with Golem would probably end up traumatizing him for the rest of his life. If he lived, of course. But on the other hand, this was a once in a lifetime experience, a chance to see dickheads get what they deserved and help destroy Cameron Campbell's corporation and any remaining sources of income for him, something which would no doubt ensure the end of Camp Campbell. However, no more camp would mean spending more time at his house with his parents—when they even remembered he existed, that is—an idea that made him physically ill. Golem's words came back to him. Just where _did_ he plan on going if he escaped? He had given it a surprisingly little amount of thought, now that he thought back about it. However, there had to be other options for him…

"I'm in."


	4. Lux aeterna

_**Valkyrie Flight**_

They were nearly halfway there now. Valkyrie Flight cruised at six thousand feet, their performance sluggish due to how heavily laden the aircraft were. The night sky was beautiful, free from clouds and pollution so that the pilots could have a brief moment of calm, a chance to bask in the cold light of the moon before the shooting started.

Deep down, Valkyrie One knew how important this mission was, but he still couldn't help thinking that it was completely _insane_. Surely there had to be a more legal way to shut the factory down, didn't there?

No matter, they were nearing the tanker now.

The KC-10 was circling in a holding pattern two thousand feet above them, awaiting the attack group to drink their fill. So heavy was the weapons load for much of Valkyrie Flight that they had taken off with a bare minimum amount of fuel necessary to reach the orbiting tanker.

Valkyrie One lumbered away from the tanker, the pilot silently panicking about the stress being put on his A-10. The Warthog could do a lot, but he felt that this was pushing it. Slung underneath the ungainly aircraft's wings were five bullet-shaped two-thousand pound thermobaric bombs, possibly the most destructive non-nuclear weapon ever built. In essence, it was an imperial ton of fuel—either ethylene or propylene oxide—in a thin bomb casing with two explosive charges timed to detonate seconds after each other. When the first charge detonates, the casing opens and the fuel is released in a cloud that saturates the atmosphere around it; infiltrating everything. Then the second detonates, creating a gargantuan blast wave that levels buildings and obliterates any living thing unlucky enough to be caught in the overpressure wave. And he had five of them mere feet away from his increasingly squishy-feeling body. Oh joy.

No pressure, then.

He chuckled weakly at his lame attempt at lightening the mood, then heaved a nervous sigh.

Just thirty more agonizing minutes.

 _Shit._

He could hear his heartbeat as he counted the seconds and led Valkyrie flight once more into the oppressive night.

 _ **Ground Team**_

They were able to see the decrepit mansion now. More importantly, they were able to see the four armed guards that comprised the fireteam assigned to protect the house and its secrets. Golem was already working out the most efficient way to terminate them.

Guns would be best. Suppressed, of course.

"If you have any qualms about watching assholes die, I suggest you look away now to preserve whatever so-called innocence you have left," Golem suggested, pulling two black Desert Eagles out from the rocket-shaped crate.

"I'm fine. It's not like it's the first time," Max replied. His head was darting around as if he were looking for threats, or, Golem thought more likely, Jasper.

"What're you worried about, anyways? I'm here, and unless they have a tank, I'm unstoppable." he attacked and leapt out from the tree line.

The first man was fifty meters away, and just off to his left. In the space of two seconds, he locked on and put three rounds directly into his temple, repainting a spruce tree with pulpy brain matter. Simultaneously, he locked on to the mercenary on the far side of the clearing and dispatched him before he even saw him, a well-placed bullet impacting his mouth and punching through the base of his skull.

 _Next!_

Bad Guy #3 attempted to run, and got a fifty-caliber dose of lead into his spine for it.

Golem tracked the bullets in slow motion as they carved through the air towards his target. He was able to visualize them bore through the ex-man's neck and obliterate his spinal cord, granting what Golem considered a merciful death.

Bad Guy #4 wasn't so lucky. He was at least loyal, or being paid a lot, as he attempted block the mansion door with his body.

 _Big_ mistake.

"On your knees, wretch," His voice echoed horribly. The man complied, shaking.

"Please, I-"

"Silence. You are accused of aiding and abetting terrorism and treasonous acts. How do you plead?" He finished, his voice venomous.

"N-Not guilty," he stammered out.

"Wrong answer." Golem put a single round directly between the man's eyes and his head virtually exploded in a shower of gore.

 _Neat_ , Golem thought as he kicked the limp body aside and busted open the door, Max sprinting up to him through the carnage.

"W-Why are you going _into_ the house?!" Max choked out, fearful of being dragged into the dungeon by a horde of nude, lubed-up old people.

"Simple. I must see what's in there," Golem replied, as cheerfully as his combat programming allowed him. "And _we're_ going into the house, not just me."

" _WHY?!"_ Max shrieked as terror killed whatever slivers of hope and reason remained within the poor child. He began to dry heave as a whirlwind of fear and anxiety took over.

"Max, I have a gun, remember? If there's anything in there I'll just shoot it," Golem explained, mainly so he didn't have to deal with a panicky kid all night. Leaving Max in the woods to die was looking like a more and more attractive idea the longer he thought about it.

"Oh yeah." Max said, blushing furiously with embarrassment. ' _How could I have been that fucking_ stupid?!' he scolded himself mentally.

Golem stepped over the threshold, weapon raised.

" _Two_ taxidermied bears? That seems unnecessary."

"Yeah." Max sighed, defeated.

 _ **Nightingale Flight**_

 _Soon they could breathe free,_ the pilot of _Christine_ thought hopefully. Until they hit the target, they were limited to the Lancer's normal top speed of 825 knots, as opposed to the fourteen hundred they could manage now. The uprated engines made his aircraft excellent at high-speed, low altitude penetration missions.

Inboard of the Lancer's engine pods, four large prototype unguided bombs lay in wait. It had been nicknamed the Louisville Slugger by the first crews that used it in action. Each olive-colored weapon was twenty-five feet long and had a distinctive bullet-shaped nosecone, and was packed with eight-thousand pounds of Composition H6 explosive. Each of the three bombers carried the same payload. There were several reasons for this.

Chiefly, these bombs were highly experimental, and there was a high probability that some of the bombs simply would not detonate. Secondly, sometimes, you really need to drive home a point.

The Mark 90 was good at that sort of thing.

And soon enough, he'd finally be able to find out if the damned things worked or not.

 _ **Ground Team**_

They were in what Golem had labelled Sub-Basement 2. The two had enjoyed themselves by trying to figure out what was in the jars and containers in the laboratory above, and Golem had found Max to be surprisingly knowledgeable about some of the sciences involved. He kept his gun level as they went room by room and explored the lair. It was decayed, but it looked like it was still used every once in a while. The lights flickered every so often, meaning it was still getting power from _somewhere_. Most disturbingly, the walls and floor were covered in what had to be blood. Ropes of sinew and intestine hung from the ceiling like nightmarish ornaments. Max recoiled in disgust as a large glob of blood and tissue landed on his shoulder, probably ruining his hoodie.

"Fucking seriously?!"

Golem kicked open a door. He signaled for Max to stay put and searched the room, weapon drawn. A thin room filled with what resembled specimen tanks in a science fiction movie. They contained the deformed corpses of numerous failed experiments of some kind. In a corner was a bloodied operating table, upon which lay the expertly vivisected remains of a child around the age of most campers on the lake. More research was necessary. One thing was certain, Washington would be informed of this.

"What could this have been for?" he wondered aloud. He motioned for Max and continued down the hall.

"So, what are you going to once this is over?" Max asked, more to try and change the oppressive atmosphere of the facility.

"Go back to base for diagnostics and upkeep, then most likely be redeployed for operations in Eastern Europe, where the fighting is. What are you going to do when you leave camp?" Max sighed and looked uncomfortable.

"Oh, come on. I've revealed state secrets to you, and you won't even tell me about your personal life?"

"That's different," Max shot back, trying to recede back under his mask of surliness and disdain.

Golem changed tactics.

"Listen, Max. If your life sucks, then it sucks. Everyone's life sucks; even _my_ existence is meaningless. But who am I going to tell? Your friends? A bunch of boring scientists and lab assistants in Montana? We're both in the same boat here, in a way."

Max sighed again and he averted his eyes from Golem's hellish gaze.

"How could you hate _your_ life? You're an invincible robot that goes around killing dickheads and assholes. Doesn't sound so shitty to me."

"Because I don't exist. I shouldn't exist. Both I and the government know that I am too dangerous to be kept alive. You may _think_ that you are a mistake, but I know that I certainly was. I was never supposed to… _progress_ in the way that I did. I am an aberration, nothing more, nothing less. I accept this reality. Yet I feel what might be regret. Maybe it is just a detached form of sorrow, but I know that _somehow_ I feel something. I accept my fate, but I still labor over from time to time. Death is universal, the one thing that I will be able to experience that everyone else can. But perhaps, perhaps in death, I can be used to create something _greater…_ "

Max stood in stunned silence for several seconds before he remembered what the hell they were talking about.

"It's just, fuck-" he struggled for words, trying to ignore the nauseating odor of decaying flesh. "I hate it here, you know that. But I hate it at home, too. My parents are barely there, and when they are, it's like they can't stand the fact that I exist. I always have to do everything on my own, but I've gotten used to it now. They always just pretend to care, but never actually give a damn. Sometimes, I wonder why they even had me—"

Max was interrupted by Golem kicking a door open, head darting around while he scanned the room.

"They just treat me like they'd be happier if I wasn't there, but I don't have anywhere else to go, and no one cares enough to do anything anyways…" He trailed off, drowning in his own misery, as was the norm.

"Happy now?" He snarled.

"No." Golem turned to face Max, and pulled something out of his pack.

It was a bulky, rugged-looking smartphone.

"Here. I assume you already have one, but here. In case you are ever in deep shit, or just want my advice or something. Give me your phone."

Max complied, very confused.

Golem plugged it into an adapter that deployed from his middle knuckle, and handed it back.

"If you lose the other one, you have a way to contact me. You're welcome." Max stared, bewildered by this turn of events. It was rare that he got gifts, and very rare that he got gifts from psychopathic sentient machines that he hadn't even known for four hours.

"Thanks?"

"Works for me. Now let's get out of this shithole so we can stop fucking _caring_ , there's nothing else worth finding."

 _ **Camp Campbell**_

David lay awake in bed, for he was just that excited for the upcoming Camporee. Inconvenienced by this, he decided that a late-night walk would soothe him, and would also allow him to check the tents to make sure no one—or three—was not in bed.

His mood quickly turned to the worse when he saw that the entrance to Max's tent was open, and it was short one camper.

"Neil, Nikki, wake up! Do you have any idea where Max is at this time of night?" David tried his best to keep the growing panic out of his voice, but that was most likely lost on the half-asleep campers.

"No, but he said something about taking a walk. Clear his head and plot or something," Neil replied, yawning while Nikki rubbed her eyes and groaned.

 _Oh no._ "Alright, stay here. I'll be back in a minute."

He made sure to walk until he was out of eyesight, and then sprinted full tilt back to the counselor's cabin.

 _Gwen will know what to do. I hope._

 _ **Ground Team**_

Golem set his pack down on the ridge, while Max watched curiously.

He could see Campbell Laboratories now, and was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. It was a massive, gleaming complex of mirrored glass, concrete and blinking lights. Off to the right, he could see a large group of oil tanks not unlike those of an airport.

Though rather outshined by the lab, he could make out the searchlights of the Woodscouts camp.

His blood boiled with rage. _If it's the last thing I do, I_ will _get back at them._ He grinned wickedly as he thought of revenge.

Meanwhile, Golem began assembling his rifle.

It was a one-of-a-kind instrument of death. At six feet long, it needed to be carried in multiple parts and assembled in place.

The gargantuan 15.2 millimeter bullets it fired were larger than anything in the U.S. arsenal that wasn't mounted on an armored vehicle or attack helicopter.

Golem felt…right as he screwed the brick-sized muzzle brake onto the end of the yard-long barrel. Despite what he and told Max in their impromptu therapy session, he had no qualms with killing. In fact, he _loved_ it.

More than that, he loved preparing for the kill; loved putting the weapons together and sizing up his targets. He loved checking over his prized sniper rifle to make sure everything on it was _just_ right.

It made him happy.

It made him whole.

He pulled the scope out of the padded case and examined it carefully. It was the first time he had ever used this particular optic.

Like his rifle, it had no name, or even a designation beyond what the manufacturer had assigned it.

It was an elegant thing, really, even if it was unwieldy.

About the size of a two-liter bottle of soda, it was a massive, dull black cylinder with a rather unfinished look. Wrapping around the device were about a half-dozen multicolored wires which fed into a trio of red laser sights mounted on the side in a triangular formation. Golem assumed that the designer had intended this as a homage to the eponymous villain from _Predator,_ as it was located extremely poorly if anyone wanted to sight a target with it. In fact, he was almost certain that no one _but_ him could actually use it, as he was capable of performing the complex calculations necessary to get the thing on target. The scope also had three special modes that he knew of: Night Vision, Infrared, and X-Ray.

He wasn't exactly sure how that last one worked, and so assumed that it was nothing more than a joke.

With a loud _snap_ , the pistol grip was attached and he was ready.

He set the heavy bipod into place and took aim.

"Max, grab that laser designator out of the case, I want you to scout out a few things for me."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Max asked, wisely questioning the sanity of this.

"Because whenever you ask 'Why?' I want you to think 'I could be spending this time attending Stuffed Animal Making class back at camp with David, but instead I'm kicking ass with The Thing That Should Not Be.'" he replied, referring to his preferred nickname.

Max snorted with sardonic laughter at this, and grudgingly grabbed the designator.

Now, Golem was hunting that most dangerous prey: Man.

He activated the powerful optic and began searching for an optimal target.

The night was silent save for the sounds of insects and the deep, pulsating electronic hum of the NV/IR/X scope.

 _There!_

Six thousand yards away, he cast his terrible gaze upon a concrete observation tower.

The infrared imaging let him see through the thick tinted glass and examine the two targets inside. He lined up his shot and prepared to fire. This was how he preferred to see the world.

He pulled the trigger.

A massive cloud of dust erupted around them as the bullet screamed across the lake.

Golem watched the gruesome impact.

The guard's head simply exploded in a viscous shower of gore and brain matter, with teeth and skull fragments turning into deadly shrapnel in an instant.

His squad mate barely had time to register this course of events before Golem racked in another round and snapped to him.

He fired again.

This time the bullet hit the man in the throat, blasting open his neck and sending the now-severed head tumbling to the floor.

He switched over to the second tower.

"So Max, your parents."

"What about them?" His voice was icy.

"How would you feel if they happened to be… _neutralized?_ "

"Are you threatening to murder my parents?"

"Oh no, of course not! I would never! But the world is such a _dangerous_ place, you know. Why, it could be a mugging gone wrong, or a car accident. Or it could just be an unfortunate 'accident,' which are sadly so common these days, no matter where you are. Why, they could be in the middle of work, not even in the same building, and then _BOOM!_ Wind up dead, all of a sudden. And no one would be any the wiser."

"Ummm…"

"The offer's always there."

The watchman in the second tower moved suddenly and Golem overcompensated, missing the officer's chest and blowing their arm off with a spray of blood. The shock had set in by the time the second shot blew their head open, and they were down.

Half of the second watchman's skull was removed in an instant from the next shot.

Now that Golem had repainted two rooms in a fine shade of russet, he shifted his focus to disabling the rest of the towers by shooting out cameras and communication arrays.

His rifle could easily manage.


	5. Extermination

**_Camp Campbell_**

"David, just why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to wake me up at whatever godforsaken hour it is?" Gwen asked, her voice a mix of anger and exasperation, a mixture that seemed to be the default when dealing with David.

"Well, Max may have tried to escape again, and Neil and Nikki don't know where he is," David replied, not yet in full-blown panic mode.

"Shit. It's not like him to try this without bringing those two with him. Maybe he's still upset at Neil," Gwen theorized, putting her psychology degree to good use.

"Maybe, but why—" David's guesswork was halted by several distinct sounds ringing out through the lake.

 _Who's out hunting at this hour?_ he wondered.

 _ **Ground Team**_

Golem jumped down from the power lines into the facility proper. Now, it was time to take out the missile site.

He leapt up to the roof of Research Building One where the missiles and the radar system lie. The static MIM-72 Chaparral surface-to-air missile launcher had only two operators, one of which was doubling as a guard.

He listened in on their chatter.

"I'm telling you, man, it was Frehley on drums!"

"No, no, no! Peter Criss was on drums! What are you, stupid?"

Golem had had enough of this.

He sprinted up to the guard and snapped his neck with an extremely satisfying sound before throwing his knife into the back of the operator's spine. Now he would get to work on the missiles. He had to be especially precise and cautious about this, meaning he smashed the radar dish with a shovel and tore the Sidewinder missiles in half with his hands.

 _That was easy._

 _ **State Highway 593- 10 Miles Away**_

Damn fucking piece of crap, the Quartermaster thought bitterly as the anemic bus spluttered and died by the side of the road once again.

As he heaved the toolkit out of its compartment and lifted open the hood, he heard a sound that he hadn't heard in some time, not since his time in Kashmir and Yugoslavia; the distinct sound of military-grade turbofans.

 _SSHHEEEEEEWWWWW!_

Seven black aircraft roared overhead at treetop level.

"Necromancer, this is Valkyrie Flight. We are on station, awaiting orders."

 **Golem**

They had deployed a helicopter against him. It would not succeed. The bulbous form of the black OH-6 Little Bird rolled left so the operator was able to fire at Golem.

The torrent of bullets served only to anger him and he responded by ripping an antennae off of the roof in front of him and hurling at the pilot like a javelin. It punched through the windshield and impaled the pilot in the chest. The diminutive helicopter tumbled out of control into the wall of the cavernous building with a short _BANG_.

He grabbed his Mark 48 lightweight machine gun and began eliminating guards with inhuman speed. In seconds he blew the back of someone's head off in a magnificent bloom of gore. He put down fifteen guards in quick succession, putting three rounds into each. Golem sprinted and leapt over the low wall, falling fifty feet and pouncing on the man below him. The riot gear clad figure crumpled underneath Golem, who activated his wristblades and drove them into his eye sockets to finish them off. Golem slashed at the next trooper, spilling their guts in a fountain of bloody carnage.

The alarms sounded when he burst through the glass doors into the huge facility. A guard rushed up to somehow stop him but, alas, Golem reacted faster than any human. He grabbed the man by the neck and began to _squeeze_.

 _"P-Please… n—"_

The doomed strangled cries began to fade into desperate gasps and gurgles as Golem's steel grip began to close. There wasn't enough air to scream. His hands frantically clawed at his throat, trying to find something, _anything_ , to grab onto. Then, the movement slowed and his hands fell limply to his sides. His eyes rolled back into their sockets as he lost consciousness from the incredible agony. Golem heard the bones cry out with wet cracks as they were pulverized. The now pulp-like flesh seeped through Golem's digits. His gaping mouth filled with blood and hot bile as if from a faucet. With a horrid finality, the head was severed and hit the floor with a wet _thud_.

Now that he was dealt with, Golem looked around the spacious atrium. Like the rest of the campus, it was very sleek and modern, all polished surfaces and granite floors. Several trees and ferns dotted the airy room. He marched forward, walking straight through the disabled sliding doors and into the laboratory. He would complete his mission.

And no force on Heaven or Earth would be able to stop him.

 **Max**

He stared up plaintively at the stars. He tried taking a nap, but his insomnia and the whirlwind of events going on around him prevented him from doing so. So he now lay flat on the ground, grateful for the solitude and intent on relaxing.

But…

Even now part of him missed his only friends. He hated that. He hated feeling happy knowing that they cared about him, hated the warmth he felt inside when he spoke with them, because he knew he was just being naïve. Soon, the summer would end, he would be back at home and never see Neil or Nikki again. And that would be that. He had tried not to get to close to them, but that had proven futile.

He sighed heavily and pulled out his phone, deciding to listen to some music in the hopes that it would carry him away from these depressing musings.

As he fished around in his pockets for his earbuds, he still hoped in vain that things would get better for him, before chastising himself for being so stupid.

 **Golem**

He stared down at the pulsating heart he held in his hand with a cold curiosity, now that it had been liberated from its owner, whose pale remains lay slumped against Golem's leg. He watched with intense interest as it pumped out its last spurts of blood, as if he were a student taking notes while the professor demonstrated the day's lesson. For all his vast knowledge of the human body, it was far more fascinating seeing it in action.

He could no longer see the floor, as there was a layer of hemoglobin about two inches deep covering the hallway like a swamp. He had only killed forty-two people on this floor of the building so far, and this seemed like a slightly disproportionate amount of blood.

As he marched through the facility, chaos and devastation followed him like a pestilence. As he listened in on the communications network, it rapidly became clear to him that nobody had a clear picture of what was unfolding. Security knew that there was an intruder, or possibly intruders, but due to his sabotage, the workers were trying to prevent the catastrophic failures of the heat exchangers and the distillation units, which would turn the facility and nearby town into a smoldering crater.

He looked up from the carnage as his sensors picked up the presence of a dozen armed guards preparing to attack. They would fail.

Stephenson's face was grim as he led his contingent through the gore-splattered halls. He did not have time to dwell on this hellish scene, however, as the security cameras had informed him that whatever had done this was in laboratory G5, just down the next hall. The entire section of the building was on lockdown, which was making it more difficult for the security teams to go through the building than the supposed intruder.

His team gathered behind him in front of the steel blast door separating them from this _thing_. As the door crawled open, a river of blood and entrails rushed through the expanding gap and crashed over their boots like waves against a cliff.

Slowly, painfully slowly, they got their first look at the thing.

A humanoid machine, seven feet tall, stood in the middle of the spacious room, deathly still. Its dull grey frame was splattered with gore and viscera, blood sluicing off its claws and blades. It had no face, nothing more than a gaunt, blank metal skull. Most terrifying, however, were the monster's eyes.

Six baleful, glowing red optics stared back at them, calculating. It seemed more as though the monster was staring _through_ them, rather than at them. It did not even seem to acknowledge their presence, as if it were far too engrossed in its own reality to pay them any mind. This assumption was, in fact true, as Golem was busy relaying information to and asking for orders from the _Necromancer_. He would deal with this unwanted audience shortly.

Weapons drawn, they slowly made their way towards him, their boots squelching under the stew of blood and body parts. For a while, they just stood, however, as the monster kept its terrible gaze upon them, its dead eyes boring through their very souls.

Without warning, he struck with the ferocity of a blasphemed god.

Stephenson had the fortune of being backhanded with enough force to snap his neck, a quick demise.

The next person Golem disemboweled and strangled with his own intestines, throwing them across the room into a shelf of lab equipment.

The next two were quickly skewered by his swords and dumped over the railing. He was a hurricane of blades as the damned contingent were swiftly cut to ribbons by the unrelenting powerhouse that was Golem.

He drove one of his blades into the last man's throat, wrenching it downward and slicing them open like a fish.

Due to the chaos going on, emergency protocols were being activated. Inside the control room, technicians were scrambling to shut down the failing systems. In their haste, they began shutting off power to various sectors. One of these was the smelting plant. Unfortunately, this caused a horrible construction flaw to make itself known. The seventy ton transfer ladle, a relic from the days when Campbell Lilac Laboratories was the United Steel Works Lilac Plant, was moving its full volume of molten zinc when the power was cut. The sudden stop put an enormous strain on the old crane, and it buckled and gave way.

A dozen alarms sounded as the ladle slammed against the floor with a deafening crash and spilled its eight-hundred degree contents. Workers began to flee the disaster as the tidal wave of liquid metal roared through the cavernous room but for many it was too late. As one of the last out, the safety manager turned back in fascinated horror to watch the nearly blinding flood of industrial lava broke free of the building. There was nothing they could do to stop it except wait for it to cool until it solidified. However, this was not concerning her, as priority one was getting her crew to a safe distance before the flood reached the chemical warehouses.

Golem stopped as the building shook. He was aware of the disaster that had unfolded, and was unconcerned. His task was more important.

The records of the arms sales. The U.S. needed to know who bought how much of what before they decided to use it. He was nearly there when he found that a security detail had been sent to the Records department.

 _Oh joy, more security._ Golem was getting bored by now. Unlike the last group, these two were simply frozen in shock at the sight of him. As well they should be. Again he pounced, impaling the leader and slamming them against the floor. The second tried to pull Golem off and had his head torn off as a reward.

He punched through the glass door and marched into the climate-controlled room.

They were going to die. Corporal Miller was certain of that. Stephenson's squad had not been heard from since they had been sent to deal with the rampaging intruder, and it was much the same story with the two men Miller had dispatched to protect the servers. Whatever this thing was, it was going through their ranks like a scythe. Whatever it was, nothing they possessed could stop it. He felt like he was on autopilot as he continued towards the horrible thing's location, despite every part of his brain screaming in rebellion.

He did not know why he kept going, nor did he know why he was leading six men to their death with him.

He suppressed a scream as he laid eyes on the…thing.

He could not make out what it looked like, for it was so thoroughly covered in gore. Sections of intestine and muscle hung from its frame like the grotesque trophies of an ancient warlord. Six horrible red eyes stared directly at him. He felt distinctly sick. But he had a job to do.

"B-By the…power v-vested in m—"

It struck.

It lopped off Roberts' head with its hand. He stood, petrified in terror, as it lifted Nichols into the air and _tore him in half_. Miller thought he might faint. He heard a wet snap and Jordan's spine was removed. He did not see what happened to the others, but he heard their screams.

It was looking at him again. He could do nothing. It reared its arm back and he felt unimaginable agony. His vision was fading, and the last thing he saw was his heart in the monster's claws. Mercifully, everything went black.

That done, Golem noticed there were suspiciously high energy and radiation signatures coming from Laboratory 7G.

He strode towards it and peeled open the thick steel door. Golem decided to use his tomahawk to terminate the guards. He swiftly delivered a savage blow to the temple, driving deep enough to send brain matter flying and the second was dispatched with a blow from the spiked butt of the weapon.

An experimental laser, about the length of a jackhammer, sleek and a dull grey, lay on a pedestal before him. This was one of those times where he seriously questioned if his reality was a video game, as this simply couldn't be a coincidence. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Golem grabbed it and quickly jury-rigged it to his arm and battle systems. He aimed it at the far wall and fired at low power. An ethereal, purple-white beam of plasma erupted from it, melting and blasting apart the offending wall and doing damage to the wall behind it.

Now that any pretense of being stealthy was vaporized, he decided that brutal and methodical extermination would be the best course to destroy all life within the campus.

With renewed purpose, he stalked forward, looking for prey.

 **Max**

He sat up and looked around, alert. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he knew he was being watched. He moved towards Golem's weapons, waited, and put his earbuds back in, on edge.

Still, he saw nothing.

 _Maybe it was Jasper?_ he thought. Or maybe it was something more sinister altogether…

 **Golem**

He would have bathed in blood if he could. He would have guzzled it down with the thirst of a dying man. His reasons for this were nothing more than to further his psychological warfare against the employees. It would strike terror in them like little else could.

It was his forte, inspiring fear. It was a key component of his programming, the manipulation and fracturing of one's mind. He felt that he was close to achieving the zenith of the German practice of _Zersetzung_ , the methods of psychological manipulation designed to drive one insane, and often to suicide. It was sheer brilliance.

And now began his campaign of nightmares.

Weapon installed, he would boil his enemies alive. Electricity arced from his body like a Tesla coil, which gave him an excellent idea for an upgrade. The enemy was barricading nearby and he moved the cannon to a nonfunctional mounting on his right shoulder to make melee combat easier. He instead grabbed his tomahawk off his hip. Time to test out PSYWAROP17. He shut off the lights in the corridor and began his physical and mental assault.

 _"MWUAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!"_

He struck down upon them like a vast predatory bird.

The first unlucky bastard Golem sank his claws into their neck and ripped their throat out with a strangled gurgle. He tossed the fleshy tube aside and popped his blades out again.

"Resistance is _futile_." One tried to flee and he pounced, stabbing them in the back between the ribs and stomping on his neck, breaking their spine. A grenadier ran up to him and Golem punched him in the jaw, tearing off slices of flesh with his knuckle spikes. One tried to hit him with their rifle, Golem plunged his hand into their chest, grasped their heart, and threw them. A rifleman got kicked in the chest with enough force to puncture their heart, but Golem shot them in the head anyways. Golem's next butchering was something he got from _DOOM_ , driving his hands into the unfortunate guard's mouth and pulling their head apart. Golem had to peel the tongue off his knuckle before continuing. Before he could continue, he was suddenly riddled with bullets as two machine gunners who had enough sense to get behind cover. He snarled in anger and charged, moving at the speed of a lion before slicing one's throat with his tomahawk and gouging their eye out with the spiked butt. The second shot him enough to blow out one of his eyes and damage his left shoulder. Golem drove his wristblades deep into the man's stomach before pulling them out and repeating the process over and over, sinking them in down to the hilt until their insides were a bloody mass of pulp. Golem grabbed him by the skull and wrenched his head to the left, but continued on until he ripped their head completely off, throwing it like a dodgeball at someone who was failing at hiding around the corner. He stalked up towards them with his broken eye sparking malevolently.

"W-What the fuck are you?!" the man screamed in mad desperation.

 _"I am Death."_

There were 2,408 employees at the laboratory, and Golem seemed to encounter nearly all of them. The blast door had jammed, trapping soldiers and civilians alike who were scrambling to get out. Perhaps his laser would loosen the door. There were others on the other side desperately wrenching at the door, screaming for their compatriots.

He aimed dead center and fired. The effect was nothing short of hellish.

Flesh was burnt to a crisp if not outright vaporizing it. Bone was blackened and blasted apart and the beam was hot enough to melt the walls, fusing the skeletal corpses to the walls in truly horrifying displays of visceral and savage torment. The corium-like pools of molten materials only added to the grotesque picture.

He continued like this through the building, a few simple sweeps of his cannon and all that remains would be melting corpses and gruesome totems of agony. He wondered what the investigators would think when they got here, bodies fused into the walls like botched osmosis, black skeletons melded with the building itself, hunks of carbonized meat clinging to ashy bones like tumorous growths, brains boiled inside their skulls and mouths agape in voiceless screams of terror that no one would ever know the cause of. What would be done with these demonic mummies, Golem pondered. Surely, it would be quite an ordeal to bury them, and would require a team of construction workers. Nor could they be cremated — well not all of them, at least, just the bits that were sticking out. As he pondered this, he cut through yet another unfortunate squad of guards, this one rather foolishly attempting to block the exit.

"I don't think you realize how this works. How this works is you will die, and nobody will care."

"P-Please, let me die…" The man who said this was severely burned and missing a leg, but his comrades were in much better condition.

 _"And so let it be written, so let it be done."_

Golem was uninterested by their pleas and their screaming, for he knew there was no god that could save them. They were damned the moment they walked through the door. He would let a few escape, if only to serve as a warning, so they can tell the awful tale.

 **Max**

Once again he bolted up, for now his senses were not deceiving him. A huge pillar of oily black smoke churned its way into the sky, and he saw a thin beam of energy blast through a large building and collapse the roof. That could only be Golem's work. He watched the multicolored flame and smoke rise into the inky night with interest. He was lucky he could not hear the screams.

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life.

" _Valkyrie Flight, you may begin your attack run. Weapons are hot. Engage. Engage. Engage."_

They screamed over the lake and the legendary roar of the A-10's GAU-8 Avenger echoed throughout the mountains.

It was then that Max had a cunning plan.

He grabbed the radio and rummaged through the supply crate.

"HA!" His grin reflected his triumphant mood as he pulled out an Army-issued map of the county. He tried to remember every scrap of military jargon video games had ever taught him before speaking into the mouthpiece.

"Valkyrie Flight, this is Ground Team, do you copy?"

 _"Roger. Something up with the radio? You sound a bit squeaky."_ Ignoring that, Max plowed on.

"Forget that, I need a gun run on…" He checked the map and stabbed a coordinate with his finger. "Grid 22A. Give it two passes then return to primary objective."

 _"Wilco, over and out."_ The radio went dead. They would never know what hit them.

 **Woodscout Troop 818- Command Tower**

The radar chirped as another aircraft screamed overhead. The last few minutes had been chaotic enough that Pikeman had ordered them to simply ignore the scans.

This would be a mistake.

Valkyrie Five was bare meters above the lake's surface when it jerked upwards and fired two gas rockets directly at the tower. They crashed through the windows and blasted tear gas into the cramped room.

Someone pulled an alarm and they scrambled to ladders and fire escapes.

 _"EVACUATE!"_ Pikeman screamed. It might be too late, though.

Valkyrie Five banked sharply and circled back. It's cannon bellowed and it fired another pair of rockets.

Huge geysers of smoke erupted from where the rockets hit. Metal barracks were shredded like paper while people ran about. Pikeman watched as one of his men ran out of a building clutching his face, screaming. It would take a while to neutralize the tear gas. This was insane. Valkyrie Five shrieked past them, forty feet off the ground. _What the hell was going on?_

 **Max**

A few minutes later, the monster in question arrived. His chassis was riddled with bullets and every inch of him was covered in blood, bone, and intestines. Max very nearly vomited at the revolting sight of him.

"What now?" He choked out.

"Now, the fireworks begin. Prepare yourself."

 _BRRRRRRT!_

Valkyrie Four swept down and dropped a CBU-97 cluster bomb on the tank farm. There were seconds to react.

 _"DOWN."_

Max barely had time to move before several million gallons of fuel and chemicals detonated in a massive sympathetic explosion that thundered with volcanic fury.

The shockwave that hit transformed debris into lethal shrapnel, and Max was nearly blown off his feet by the force of it. He waited for his ears to stop ringing and the spots to clear from his vision. Two more black aircraft screamed above the trees and made their pass. Valkyrie One jerked upwards to a thousand meters and released its thermobaric payload.

 **Camp Campbell**

"Goddamn revenuers!" the Quartermaster barked out.

The windows rattled dangerously in their frames, and the darkness was beaten back by the rising firestorm across the lake. The three adults had to shield their eyes from the incandescent fireball.

 _"What in the FUCK is going on?!"_ Gwen screamed.

"It's the goddamn government!"

"Not helping!"


	6. Totentanz

**Nightingale Flight**

"Target is in sight. We are beginning our attack run." Nightingale One shut the radio off.

 **Ground Team**

Max heard them before he saw them. Golem had been tracking them for many minutes but now, here they were. The low rumble of their engines slowly transformed into a deafening scream as they got closer and closer.

"Max, get to cover."

"Bombs away, punch it!" Two and Three complied as they gunned it and shot to Mach 2.

Max covered his ears from the bloodcurdling screech of the bombers and didn't hear Golem's warning.

The four-ton bombs punched through the ground and hit the underground storage facilities. Two-hundred tons of explosives and volatile chemicals detonated in less than a second.

The world turned a blinding white and the ground shook as if the Earth was being violently torn in half.

Then the shockwave hit.

The thunder was biblical. Max was blown off of his feet and landed hard on the ground. He cried out in pain.

When he opened his eyes, the mushroom cloud was a mile tall and chunks of rubble rained down onto the lake.

 _"FUCK."_

"I told you to get down."

 **Camp Campbell**

The shockwave blew out every window at the and caused a small tsunami to surge forwards and inundated the already water-damaged buildings.

"Was that a nuke?!"

"Gwen, I'm going to make sure everyone is okay!" She nodded in approval.

"No, if that were a nuke, we'd be dead by now." The Quartermaster growled.

 **Ground Team**

Golem whipped around.

"Max, stay close and do _exactly_ what I say."

"What's going on?"

"A counterattack."

"So we're fucked?"

 _"Not yet."_ Golem had stowed his sniper rifle and replaced it with his trusty machine gun.

"How many?"

"Sixty."

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

Golem did not answer.

"Oh, _shit._ "

They had walked into a large, rugged clearing, on the other side of which were sixty well-trained soldiers.

On the other side was certain death.

" _Stay here_. Keep to the ground unless I say otherwise." Max nodded jerkily. Fog was rolling in, giving the soon-to-be battlefield an even more ominous appearance. Rain had begun too.

All in all, a perfect place to die.

They were crouched behind a small ridge, waiting for things to kick off. Max began to wonder how quickly Nikki and Neil would forget about him, just another victim of this camp. A harsh voice broke his reverie.

 _"Attention. Our forces surround you. You saboteurs have no hope of escaping alive. Surrender now and your death will be swift. Make your peace with God. Now, before you go, just who are you people anyway?"_

The voice reverberated across the forest horribly.

"I am righteous vengeance. I. Am. _GOD. And you will know my name when I lay my vengeance upon thee. Now kneel, heretics, and prepare to be struck down by my furious_ _ **WRATH**_ _!"_ His metallic voice thundered across the plain like the war drums of some advancing horde.

He stood, and sixty guns answered him. His eyes glowed like a blast furnace in the night. Thousands of bullets ricocheted off of him and he did not move a centimeter. Electricity still arced and flowed off of him like a lightning rod, and in such quantities that Max scrambled backwards to a safer position.

Then he fired back. A long burst of tracer fire cut down twelve men, and Golem began to tear through their ranks with unimaginable speed. He charged, sprinting toward the treeline at sixty miles an hour. He pulled out his tomahawk and cleaved someone's head in two and tore another's stomach open with his claws.

He was a terrifying sight. Cake in dried blood and tissue, sparking like a blown generator, machine gun in one hand, bloodied hatchet in the other, it made several soldiers quickly rethink their life choices before being torn to pieces by the force of nature that was Golem.

He was dashing back to his cover when the first grenades soared overhead. They seemed to miss, but that seemed unlikely, which meant they were intended for...

"Max!"  
 **Max**  
He whipped around and in an instant everything happened. He felt Golem grab him and sudden, unbearable pain as the fragmentation grenade went off and the world flashed white.


	7. Die Walküre

**Max**

He whipped around and in an instant everything happened. He felt Golem grab him and sudden, unbearable pain as the fragmentation grenade went off and the world flashed white.

Golem's immensely powerful sensors told him Max had been hit. There was shrapnel in his arm and side, but the damage seemed to be minor. However, this did not prevent him from exacting brutal revenge.

 _"_ ** _ENJOY DEATH!_** _"_ He fired his laser and swept his arm right to left, and the forest was hit by the brilliant purple death beam. The treeline suddenly erupted with the blinding light of a supernova. The localized temperature flashed to six thousand degrees before dissipating. Radioactive lava coated the earth and trees and the impact zone was nothing more than a huge puddle of molten rock.

There were still more out in the darkness, though.

Max groaned and coughed. Golem hunched down.

His breaths were short and ragged. His eyes bulged and face was contorted. He held a hand over the gushing wound in his side. He appeared to be crying and was beginning to hyperventilate. This would not do.

"Max, listen to me. You're going to be okay. Just try not to move. There's only so much I can do here, but there's a medic on the chopper. You're not dying today." Max chuckled weakly at this. Bullets still screamed past them.

"If you say so." His voice was raspy and weak.

"Listen, I'm going to pull the largest fragments out. I don't have very much anesthetic, so this is going to hurt. A lot."

Max only nodded. Golem began operating. He first pulled an attachment out of his multitool-like knuckles, that looked like an advanced pair of tweezers.

Max screamed in agony as a dime-sized piece of shrapnel was pulled out of his abdomen. His chest heaved, and Golem noted that he was lucky that this fragment had not penetrated past the outer layer of muscle. This shard, like the others, was placed on his magnetized hip.

"You're tougher than you look, Max." He gave a small smile at this.

"Thanks."

"S-So why'd you make me come with you?" Max hissed in pain as a rather nasty fragment was removed from his arm.

"In general or now? Well, like I said before, no one would believe you if you said there was a robot in the woods. However-" He pulled out a large shard, bent in on itself, and Max let out a short scream.

"-they _would_ believe that what a child with an overactive imagination thought was a robot was actually a gun-toting lunatic wandering around a camp full of misfit children. As to why I brought you to this firefight, every calculation I ran says you are still safer than you would have been if I left you at the ridge."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. These guys are not too friendly towards Americans." Max gave him a quizzical look and Golem dangled several dogtags in front of him. They glinted ominously in the pale moonlight.

"KGB, Thai Army, North Korean Airborne, Chinese Leishen battalion. I don't know how exactly they got here, but I know there's going to be hell to pay in Washington once this gets out. Can you imagine how Fox News will respond to North Korean soldiers on American soil?"

Max actually laughed at this, which Golem took as a good sign.

"When I landed, there was a patrol not to far from you. If they were Blackwater or some other U.S. private military group, you probably would've been fine. Told you off, and sent you on your merry way. But they were DPRK commandos. There isn't a more fanatical military in existence. They would've killed you and burned the body. Now, when I'm done, our medic will do the rest of the work, Okay? Me and the FBI will clean up the rest of these bastards. Now close your eyes."

Max complied, both reassured and unnerved, and Golem rose up and fired two short bursts, one from the machine gun, one from the laser. The bullets made them duck, but no cover could protect the blinding stellar fury of the death beam. They did not have time even to scream.

"Finally, some quiet." Bullets still whizzed by them with incredible frequency and explosions rained dirt down on their position.

"Sure, let's go with that."

"I'm going to start stitching you back together, so don't move unless you want your arm sewn to your stomach like some horror movie doll." Max flashed a small smile at this.

"Let's do it."

The surgery had taken twenty minutes, during which several more fragments had to be removed, which was why Max was simply laying on his side in the ditch too exhausted to move. Golem jumped slightly when Max shot upright and vomited spectacularly.

"The corpsman will put you under for the next round of surgery." Golem said while Max gagged and coughed raggedly.

"There's _more_?"

"Yes, there were some injuries that I do not have the proper equipment to rectify." Max groaned and cried.

A branch snapped. They were coming.

Golem rose up and once again began methodically tearing the soldiers to pieces. He tore a man's spine out. He crushed the skull of one with his hands, satisfied as the brain imploded under the force. Another Golem grabbed by the shoulders, dug his fingers in, and pulled them apart down the middle. A bolt of lightning struck near him, adding to the terrible beauty of the scene. Max saw in the cold light the spectral image of Golem striking down, driving his claws into someone's screaming death mask.

By the time he was finished, it looked like Campbell's forces had been thrown into a wood chipper. There was almost nothing identifiable, the carnage more resembled a thick paste at this point.

Max tried to stand and staggered, dizzy. He was going to pass out, the blood loss and enormous strain that had been put on him over the past several hours made that certain. He just didn't know if he was going to wake up again afterwards. As he fell, Golem grabbed him and tried propping him up against his leg. When that didn't work, he resorted to simply carrying him over his shoulder like a bag of flour. Max was too tired to protest.

Golem radioed the _Necromancer_. The mission was over for him.

"Frankenstein to _Necromancer_ , Frankenstein to _Necromancer_ , do you copy?"

 _"Necromancer to Frankenstein, we read you loud and clear. Go ahead."_

"Mission complete. Requesting exfil to secondary LZ Brady. Have one noncombatant wounded in need of medical attention. Treat him and insert at LZ, then we return to base."

 _"Wilco, Frankenstein. We have EI massing at a distance and holding. We're going to clear the LZ first."_

And then the XV-34 and OA-10 Bronco banked hard and shot towards the clearing. The co-pilot of _Necromancer_ looked through the green night-vision display screen. He had control of the gun turret mounted mere feet in front of him. He could see the eerie figures of the enemy troops and locked on.

"Get some, you motherfuckers."

The twin turret-mounted 35 millimeter cannons roared and rained down high-explosive frag rounds down on them. The forest glowed with fire and echoed with screams. The Bronco dove and dropped two small incendiary bombs on a hastily-assembled fortification, which exploded in a brilliant cloud of splinters. The _Necromancer_ turned sharply and canted its propellers upwards to begin a vertical landing. The huge spotlights made Golem adjust his optics as it spun slowly so the loading ramp faced him. The fierce winds churned up by the propellers threatened to blow away some of the bodies, which would hurt the coming investigation. The ramp came down, and out rushed Major Calvin, the combat medic.

"This him?!"

"Yeah, got caught in the firefight, shrapnel from a grenade fucked him up."

"Alright, let's go!"

David heard it first. The slow building roar of the engines made him whip around and saw the flashing red and green collision lights of the XV-34 as it thundered above the lake.

" _Gwen!_ " She sprinted towards him.

"What is it, Da-" words failed her. The massive black aircraft jerked upwards and landed on top of what was going to be the bonfire. The ramp opened and three figures ran out. One was an athletic looking man with graying hair in combat fatigues. The man trailing behind him seemed to be an assistant of some sort. Both had red crosses on their uniforms.

The third was-

"Oh my god."

It looked like something that had walked out of a science fiction nightmare. Seven feet tall, featureless and covered in blood and bits of flesh, with six lifeless, crimson eyes that seemed to burn through them. Clutching its leg was a bruised, bloodied Max.

"Holy shit, Max! What happened to you?!" His hoodie clung to him, shredded and soaked with blood and mud. His jeans, too, were splattered with dark gore and dirt. She could see vicious red wounds across his arm and sides, bandaged and stitched shut. His curly hair was matted with blood and full of leaves and sticks. His entire body shook as he breathed, and he coughed on occasion.

"We'll talk later, but get me to whatever medical office or empty room you have so I can treat him!" the doctor barked out. Gwen nodded numbly and pointed them towards the run-down nurse's hut.

"Alright, let's move!" Out of the aircraft came nearly a dozen men lugging medical equipment and other necessities with them.

David simply stood there, face drained of color, in shock and horror.

Max was awake enough to watch Golem depart.

"Goodbye Max. I know we shall meet again soon. remember that phone I gave you. _Do svidaniya!_ " He gave a salute. Max flipped him off. Golem returned the gesture and Max smiled.

Max was fortunate enough to be sedated this time. Golem and the _Necromancer_ had left, but the doctors had stayed behind for their patient. He was curled up in a large bed, provided after several calls had been made by the Major. He watched the maimed child like a mother grizzly.

After the madness of this night, Max was asleep in five minutes. The nightmares would not come until later.

 ** _Royal Palace, Bangkok, Thailand_**

Cameron Campbell gave a contented sigh as he looked around at the resplendent opulence of the palace that was now his. The populace, too, seemed almost pleased with the knowledge that he was at the helm. The nuclear program was progressing well, having moved his operations in the field to the Thai peninsula in anticipation of an American crackdown. Then there was the military. The elite First Division was guarding the palace, but alas, was under-equipped like so much of his military. He would have to go to the Chinese, of course. They did tend to offer the best value for money.

Maybe a few nuclear subs?

His musings were interrupted by an aide running up to him, his face grim.

"Sir," he panted, giving a short salute.

"Sir, we have reports that the Sleepy Peak facility has been totally destroyed."

Campbell sighed.

"Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. But worry not, it is of no consequence to us now."

The aide gave him a quizzical look but decided against questioning further. His new boss was an odd man, but the plans Campbell had for his little nation…

Soon, they would have their time in the sun.


	8. Fox on the Run

_**Johns Hopkins Medical Center, Baltimore**_

"How's the patient?"

"I...don't think he's got much longer."

"Has he said anything? He should be lucid."

"He doesn't say much when those spooks are around. They think he's North Korean."

The first doctor choked on his coffee. " _What?!"_

"Yeah. I've never seen wounds quite like his, those burns."

"What, was he a defector or something? How'd he get those? He looked like he'd been attacked by a samurai and had lava thrown on him."

"All I could get out of him is that he was attacked by a _demon_. A black metal creature, silent and fast as the wind, evil red eyes. I think he might be delirious or suffered from some kind of psychotic break."

"You don't say. I take it he doesn't have any family visiting?"

"What do you think?"

 ** _Camp Campbell_**

 ** _20+ Hours After Mission Completion_**

Max was having a truly miserable night. For the first nine hours, he had slept soundly, exhaustion and medication keeping him from he first woke up, it was to almost complete darkness and a need to use the bathroom. Afterwards, his sleep was mercilessly invaded by a new level of horrible nightmares, ones that would leave him shaken hours after waking.

He was on that operating table in the lab underneath Campbell's mansion. He was restrained with bloody leather straps, wearing a hospital gown. The gruesomely deformed _things_ in the glowing blue stasis chambers seemed to leer at him. He was sweating and breathing rapidly. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest. He saw something move in the corner of his eye and suppressed a scream.

"Shall we begin, _Herr Doktor_?"

" _Ja_ , we shall perform one _vivisektion und beobachtung_ session now, and another after we have performed our initial _veränderung_ to see how they progress."

" _Jawohl. Sollen wir Narkose?"_

This made _Herr Doktor_ think. Max could not see either of their faces, but could see the lights reflecting off of their glasses. He knew nothing he could say would make them reconsider.

"Hmm, an excellent question. I suppose we can acquire another ' _freiwillige patienten'_ to use next time, so let us go without for today, to make things _interesting_ , ja?"

The other doctor chuckled.

" _Jetzt_ , let us hope does not squirm to much, it will make the, ah, cutting and additions, so tedious."

"Well, you didn't use the muscle relaxant on yourself, _Ich hoffe_?"

They both chuckled this time. It seemed good-natured. Max's eyes were wide and darted around in fear, he was trembling, terrified that he would end up like the last body he saw on this table.

" _Geben Sie mir die überlagert wird. Ich werde den Schnitt machen und wir können fortfahren. Und der Knochen gesehen hat?_ "

" _Ah, ja. Hier._ "

He tried to move, to thrash against his restraints, but his limbs were numb and useless. He tried to scream, but the air was missing.

His brain seemed to shut down as he was cut open. He could understand what they were saying, his vision was fuzzy, and he was just so _tired_ , he wished it would end. _Please…_

" _Wir werden Sie besser, Max. Verstehen?_ "

" _Ja, ich verstehe._ "

Everything went black.

Then he was in another part of the basement, the part he feared most. They were attacking him, pawing at him like animals. They started to touch him and tear his clothes off and then...oh god no no no _this isn't happening get_ **off!** get the fuck off of me _stop why_ nononoNO _NO NO NO!_ ** _NO! NOOOO!_**

He screamed and sprang upright, ripping his sheets off. Before he had a chance to process his darkened surroundings he heard shouting voices and felt the bed compress under two additional bodies. Still jumpy and frightened, he lashed out.

"OW! Damn it!"

"MAX! Max, it's us, it's ok!"

"Wha-" Before he could say anything more, Nikki and Neil pulled him into a suffocating hug.

"What the hell are you guys doing in here?" he gasped out.

"The doctor gave up on trying to kick us out after a while. We just slept in here on those chairs."

They just stared at the vicious wounds on his side and they hugged him again, crying this time.

"We really thought you had died."

"Max, we just-I mean…"

"I get it, guys."

Nikki seemed to calm down. Neil, on the other hand…

"I mean, first I left you in that prison with the Woodscouts, then everything with Harrison and that trick-which I'm _sorry_ , by the way, and now-"

"Neil, shut up. I'm not mad at you. God, you're one of my only friends."

He wanted to tell them that he was fine, that he wanted to deal with this by himself, like always. But, _damn it_ , he wasn't made of stone. He hugged them back.

Max was given a large breakfast, which he wolfed down like a piranha.

"That was better than the shit they normally give us. A lot better. What's the deal?"

"There's a diner nearby. Due to your injuries, you'll be exempt from camp activities for several weeks. You're going to need to rest up, kid."

Max hauled himself out of bed and opened the door to the outside world, his friends clinging to his side incase he were to suddenly collapse. What he saw surprised him.

Helicopters swarmed the gutted ruins of the lab like flies. They carried scientists and soldiers and analysts and god knows who else. They came dressed in lab coats and combat fatigues and HAZMAT gear. Only a few held rifles, the rest carried instruments and scientific gear. Many carried Geiger counters, and, disturbingly, a few wielded M9 flamethrowers.

Most of the camp had hastily been transformed into a sprawling field hospital. A cleanup team was gathering near the helipad that had bulldozed over the bonfire pit. An officer dressed in blue rubber was shouting out instructions to the crowd.

"Once you're dropped in, you will have twenty-five minutes before the toxic cocktail cloud slices your lifespan into days. That's two-five, geniuses! Teams are working to dilute the chemicals but, for now, robots will be assisting you with the cleanup. Here comes the chopper, now move it!"

The UH-60 landed and disgorged a complement of medics hauling casualties. The instant they got off, the cleanup squad boarded. Max watched in fascination as this process repeated over and over in a seemingly endless conveyor belt of men and aircraft. His jaw dropped as an actual fucking _tank_ lumbered past them, pushing the camp station wagon aside with its dozer blade.

David was not himself. He seemed to lack that spark that made him what he is, and Gwen knew why. She too had been shaken when she had seen the state Max was in and the _thing_ that Gwen had been told she did not see, but David…

She would help him through this, but first she would have to enlist some help of her own first. She went over to the makeshift headquarters of the massive tent campus.

"Doctor Callahan, are you busy? It's kind of important."

"No, come in." He set down the somewhat singed document he was glossing over, that rather disturbingly had a large _Reichsadler_ grasping a swastika on the cover.

"It's about David, I think he needs help. Do you know any good psychiatrists? One that know, like, PTSD?" She felt rather embarrassed doing this, but the young doctor's face seemed to soften slightly at this request.

"I do, in fact. One of the few perks of being an Army doctor. I'll give Doctor Skoda a call and see what I can do."

"Thanks."

Now, to begin the healing process.

She saw David standing in the way of a tank, zoned out. The crew were frantically trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

"C'mon, David, let's get you back to the cabin. I'll make you some tea and we'll watch some Bob Ross, will that help?"

David seemed to light up a little at this. He nodded and gave Gwen a brief hug. She didn't mind and guided him out of the war machine's path, feeling a little better herself.

The remaining forces on the island surrendered almost immediately upon the arrival of the United States Army. They were exhausted, confused, and wildly out of their element. They had no hope of victory on the enemy's home turf.

The U.S. forces handled the situation admirably. The captured troops were quickly fed, treated, and given a half-hearted interrogation; the Army had surmised that these men knew next to nothing about their assignment. The most interesting occurrence was when two men from the State Department and the CIA pulled each detainee aside, and asked them if they would prefer permanent residence in the United States. The word _defect_ was never used due to its negative associations. A surprising number chose to start a new life in America, and were held back in order to work out the arrangements. The remains of the dead were swiftly catalogued and shipped back to their home countries to be interred with no diplomatic sabre-rattling.

There was a large hill that the laboratory rested next to. An Army helicopter landed in a relatively undamaged portion of land adjacent to the hill and disgorged its passengers. The soldiers wore protective clothing and followed their Geiger counters to a massive steel blast door set into the side of the hill.

"Get that damn door open! We don't have all day!"

One of the technicians came up and entered the 25-digit code. The 18-ton door opened with theatrical slowness. The light swept over the contents of the underground repository.

"Holy shit. Get me some light on here!" One of the men complied and flipped on the dull emergency lights.

The large, conical objects gave off an air of menace as the officers wiped dust off of their olive drab casings. There had to be a hundred of them.

The yellow inscription read:

W95 THERMONUCLEAR WARHEAD

BLAST YIELD 500 KILOTONS

HANDLE WITH CARE :)

"Warheads are secure!"

"Sarin and VX canisters are secure!" Someone shouted from across the cavernous room.

"Alright, let's move out!" He tossed a red smoke grenade and waited for the chopper. This was big.

 ** _The White House_**

The President had been informed of the strike team's success and immediately met with Vice President Biden and the National Security Council in the Oval Office. An interesting addition to this meeting was Senator and presidential nominee Robert McKinley (R-Michigan). He had come at the request of the Vice President, who felt his experience in clandestine matters would be greatly appreciated.

"So, what exactly are you worried about here, Mr. President?"

"I'm worried that we may have overstepped our boundaries here. I mean, sending in an HRT squad…"

"Well, Mr. President-"

"Wait, wait, wait. Barry, did you sign off on this? Look at your report. What _lunatic_ authorized the use of these assets on American soil?!" McKinley interjected.

"If you would just-" The National Security Advisor attempted to regain control of the conversation, and the FBI Director was getting ready to come to his defence, but the Senator plowed on.

"'Three B-1 Lancers dropped a total of 48,000 pounds of ordnance on the enemy facility, causing catastrophic damage to munitions facilities.' What the hell?! Mr. President, surely you did not authorize a _bombing raid_ on U.S. soil and U.S. citizens?! Just because Campbell sold weapons to the Serbs doesn't mean we can go after him like the Serbs!"

"You know damn well I wouldn't do that!"

"Well, then we need to find out who the hell did!" Biden shouted to no one in particular.

"We'll get to the bottom of this. That's a promise." The President said, silencing the room.

 ** _Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina_**

With the capture of General Zivko Rajkovic by a team of Delta Force occurring parallel to Operation Falchion, the perpetrators of the multiple ethnic cleansings were in NATO hands. The news of his capture swept through the battered nation like a wildfire, and her citizens flooded the streets, the sounds of cheering, sobbing, and general euphoria were simply deafening. Confetti, balloons, and god knows what else rained down from windows and rooftops onto the street, adding to the joyous chaos that gripped the city. Not only were Bosnian flags being flown, but American ones too. Bars were packed to burst and drained of anything even resembling alcohol and the streets were too crowded for anyone to even think of driving home. The scars of the ancient city stood out in stark contrast to the colorful, thunderous celebration that engulfed the horror and loss that had colored recent memory. It was beautiful. It was amazing. In that very square would stand a statue of the President and Senator Mckinley in a few short years, a symbol of all the good they did and would do for the little country.

Actions


	9. Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

_**Camp Campbell**_

The helicopters never stopped coming. Like an endless conveyor belt, they ebbed and flowed into the lakeside like the tides themselves. Max had gotten used to the constant noise to such a degree that it seemed to help him sleep.

Max was on his phone, looking at boobs, when he decided to text Golem, just to see what would happen.

- _Hi._

The response was instantaneous. His phone went insane, which nearly gave him a heart attack.

-SAGARIKA111843XX83999215_AUTHORIZING_AUTHORIZING_33812OSLYABA90354890111111111111111111111111

-ACCESS GRANTED USER MAX. YOUR CODENAME IS DANCING QUEEN.

-CONNECTING TO SULACO NATIONAL DEFENCE COMMUNICATIONS SERVER

- _Hello. How is your recovery coming along?_

 _-It's going ok._

 _-Actually it's fucking awful._

 _-Well, look on the bright side. You technically are eligible a military discount at Taco Bell._

 _-Eww, fuck that._

"Hey, Max!" And in came Neil.

"C'mon, dude, what the fuck?! Don't you knock?"

"Watching porn, huh? Anything good?"

"Wh-no! I'll show you later, if the wifi doesn't get any worse. I'm texting G-umm, nobody! No one at all." _Great job, dumbass._

"... _Riight_."

"Listen, I know both of you have a lot of questions about last night, and so do I, but..."

At that point, salvation came in the form of Doctor Alexander Callahan.

"LIsten...you, I need you out of here. I know, I know, he's your friend, blah blah blah, but this is important. I need to make sure my patient isn't getting any infections or metal poisoning, so, y'know, shoo."

Neil complied, scowling in a way that made Max proud.

"For a doctor, you completely _suck_ at the whole 'bedside manner' thing." Max quipped.

"Anyone who does this job to shovel out the touchy-feely shit to people in unspeakable agony is a fucking moron who should be kicked in the balls. Forever. Let's get those bandages off."

Max was sitting on a bench right outside, away from irritants like, well, pretty much everyone. At least he had his coffee. He stared out at the lake. A particularly epic storm was rolling in, with the first raindrops further decimating his hoodie. He didn't care anymore. He liked storms and rain, they were practically the only good thing about this time of year, which was nothing more than heat, bugs, and awfulness. Plus, lightning was fucking _cool_.

He did not notice the Major until he sat down next to him. Major Callahan said nothing, he just lit up a cigarette and sighed.

"Fuck, you smoke too? What kind of doctor are you?"

"The kind who has to deal with so much fucked up shit on a daily basis, it's a wonder that he hasn't killed everyone he works with and then himself. Besides, you're one to talk, Mr. Coffee."

"Mr. Coffee? That's the best you can do?" Max was smirking.

"I've been up for-why the fuck am I explaining myself to you?! Jesus, I'm 24! Why am I arguing with a kid?"

Max felt a very faint smile cross his lips briefly as he took a sip of coffee. He watched a massive bolt of lightning struck the surface of the lake and waited for the thunder. When it hit, he had a vivid image of the laboratory erupting into flame, people screaming and burning. He visibly shuddered.

"I'm not sure what's more fucked up, this absolutely _retarded_ mission, or the fact that at four in the morning I had to pull shrapnel out of a ten year old kid's gut." He sighed and pulled out a flask.

Max really didn't know what to do or say here, and it showed on his face. The silence stretched on.

"Thanks." This caught Callahan completely off guard. "For, y'know, saving my life and all that shit. I know I you should've just…"

"Let you die? Helped someone who deserved it? Fuck that, I've heard it all before. I've said some of it too."

"Did you hear all the things I told Golem?"

"Yeah, why?"

"It's just...I don't even know how true some of it is. My parents work all the time, and I don't even know why. Not really. It's like they do it so they don't have to be around me. I mean, why would they? Why would _anyone_?! I still can't figure why Neil and Nikki haven't realized that yet." Callahan sighed.

"Because they care about you, dumbass. Jesus, kid, I'd have killed to have a friend like you when I was your age."

"Really?"

"Yes, and I'm sure your friends would kill to keep you around. And hell, look on the bright side, girls love a guy with cool scars." Max smiled slightly at this. "So do guys, if that's your thing."

"Oh, shut up, old man." Max sighed and began to brood again.

"Things'll get better, alright. You're one tough bastard. Hell, there are adults who couldn't deal with this shit as well as you."

"Why do you care? Did David get to you?" Another bolt of lightning, and he saw bullets screaming past him, he saw blood pouring out of his stomach.

"No I just don't want you turning into _me_ , or worse. I know what you're going through, and I also know that you say you don't need any help, is what I'm getting at."

"What could _possibly_ be worse than turning into you?"

"Turning into David."

"Doctor Callahan! Major!" The doctor stood and saw someone in a lab coat trying to wave him down.

"What is it?!"

"We got a live one! We need to get him prepped!" At that moment, two men hauled a stretcher-bound figure out of a Sleepy Peak medevac chopper, two police officers running behind them.

"Sorry, kid. Duty calls." Callahan smirked at Max and sprinted off to the helipad. Then, suddenly, he skidded to a halt and spun around.

"Damn, I almost forgot! Here," He handed Max a mason jar filled with a few dozen metal fragments.

Max went back to watching the storm, thinking about his parents and everything else that had gone wrong in his miserable life. He glanced down the jar and shook it, recognizing a few of the larger pieces. He definitely wasn't crying. He just had something in his eye. Yeah, that was it.

 _God damn it._

Neil wiped the sweat from his palms and opened his briefcase. After arriving at this musty old camp he never thought he'd get a chance to use it, but now it was time. Now he would show them all.

He felt a shiver run down his spine as he pulled on his spotless white lab coat.

 _Oh yes. This feels good._ He felt a surge of confidence as he walked out of his tent and towards the haphazard campus.

As it turns out, everyone was busy and distracted enough that nobody noticed another guy in a lab coat, even if he was the shortest one.

 _Now to see what there is to see._

A black government-issue sedan pulled up to the camp. Two men exited the car in unison, both menacing and dressed in dark suits. The first was a tall, somewhat muscular man, almost completely bald, wearing round glasses and a scowl. Assistant Director Walter Skinner was distinctly less than pleased to be out here, though it was outweighed by...this. A research lab destroyed, hundreds of people killed, thousands injured, a toxic chemical spill and half a county now under the authority of the FBI and the U.S. Army. And he, part of the upper echelon of the Bureau, couldn't get a straight answer out of anyone. And that just made him mad. It reminded him of his days in Vietnam, people running around like chickens with their heads cut off because the brass couldn't realize that their orders contradicted what anyone with half a brain could see was reality on the ground.

The two men were both in their sixties, with similar backgrounds, but the second, Detective First Rank Thomas Walker, looked at least ten years his senior. Multiple scars crisscrossed his lined face, giving the impression that his pale face was being cast in shadow. Some were vastly more obvious than others; the large burn on his cheek and jaw, a semicircular wound on the flesh under his right eye, and a particularly nasty one on his neck that looked disturbingly like someone had tried to hang him. He wore a dark suit and a long wool coat in spite of the summer day. Mirrored sunglasses hid his cold gray eyes and a lit cigar stuck out of his mouth.

"Why in the hell did you bring me out to this mosquito-infested backwood, Walter? I've got a spree killer on the loose and I'm struggling to figure out what the FBI thinks is just so important that it requires my complete and undivided attention."

"What both myself and the FBI want is to assess the progress of this joint operation and the recovery of whatever intact weapons may be underneath the rubble, and due to your extensive knowledge of covert operations and demolition and your proximity to this location, we _requested_ you come and take a look." Walker rolled his eyes.

"Oh look, the Assistant Director is here." Callahan could have tossed a grenade into the hive of Bureau men and the reaction would not have been as chaotic. Leaning against the side of a bulldozer, he got a good laugh out of watching them all trip over themselves in a mad dash to be King of the Ass-Kissers.

"Assistant Director Skinner, what is the occasion for this visit?" _And a King is crowned! All Hail!_ He gave a mocking salute to Special Agent-in-Charge Dennis Markovic as he sprinted up to Skinner.

"Assessing just what in the hell is going on here, Agent."

"You...you weren't informed, sir?" The agent was looking rather nervous now.

"I was, but that only left me with more questions," _So that's how it feels._

"Well, sir…"

Callahan's cigarette fell out of his mouth when he saw Walker. _Oh, that motherfucker! What the fuck is he doing here?! Just fucking perfect!_

The old man was still taller than him, though not by much anymore.

"The fuck? What are you doing here, kid?"

"My job, remember?"

"Walker, let's go!"

David was feeling much better after Gwen had gotten him out of his fugue. _That's the right word, isn't it? I bet Gwen would know._

Tea, Bob Ross, and curling up on the couch with someone you cared about-was there anything better? His only problem now was that he was having difficulty thinking of activities to do with the campers now that it was so... _crowded_. Of course, he didn't have any issues with all of the government people being at camp; working for Mister Campbell had gotten him used to that. Everyone he encountered had been surprisingly friendly and outgoing, no matter what their job was or how busy they were, and he couldn't remember the last time the camp had had so much fresh food and medical supplies. He would definitely have to thank whoever was in charge for that.

No, the only issue David had was that he had not actually gotten an answer as to _why_ all these people were here. That, and the fact that he had not seen the Quartermaster since the government people had arrived. He was starting to worry about the man, he certainly wasn't getting any younger…

His thoughts were brought to a crashing halt by the sound of sniffling and crying. David felt ice fill his veins. He rounded the corner and saw Max, soaked to the bone, sitting on a bench wiping his nose. He practically felt his heart break at the sight.

"Max, what's wrong?" Max jumped at the sound of his voice.  
"Nothing, David, just...just leave me the hell alone."

"No, Max. I'm not leaving. It's my job to make sure you campers are alright."

"God fucking damn it." He heaved a sigh and reluctantly began to tell him the reason. Maybe it was because of just how utterly exhausted he was that he didn't even bother to put up some facade. When he was finished, to his absolute horror, David attempted to pull him into a hug. Luckily, David seemed to come to his senses and instead awkwardly put his arm around Max.

"Don't you _dare_ tell anyone about this."

"It's okay, Max."

"You didn't answer me."

"Let's just get you inside."

"David, don't even _think_ about it!"

Callahan was just finished with his sixth patient, shipping them off to Sleepy Peak General to recover, when his phone vibrated.

"Oh, good God, what fresh hell is this?"

It was David. _Oh great._ Alex had given David his number in order to simplify communications, and had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to call only in a dire emergency. ' _If some sort of mutant hybrid animal is attacking, if you find a bunker full of weapons, If some sort of armed insurgency is taking place. No calling for anything less important than that.'_ Somehow Callahan was sure this did not fit those criteria. He heaved a sigh and answered after the sixth ring.

"Yes?"

"Um, hi, it's David, from-from camp-"

"I know that. What is it?"

"Um, I found Max out here and took him inside...and he doesn't look that good and-"

"Alright, I'm on my way." _Don't need two panicky children to deal with._

"Kowalski, Willard! Get this fucker stitched up and out of here, _now_!"

"Alright, what is it? Did you touch something?"

"No! No, it's just...he was outside, and he just looked so upset-"

"Oh my god, David, _stop talking!_ "

"Good work, kid." He told David.

"Why are you siding with him?!"

"I'm not, I'm siding with 'I'm the doctor and actually know what I'm doing.'"

Max huffed and crossed his arms.

"The fuck is going on between you two?"

"Well-"

"Shut up, David! I just-I...can't hear you. Not very well." Max looked extremely upset about this.

"Kid, don't get worked up about that, okay? The hearing damage is temporary. It'll be gone soon enough. Anything else? Me and my team will check up on you later, of course." Max looked rather uncomfortable, and distinctly avoided making eye contact with the two of them. Callahan got the message.

"David, could you come back another time? I have to discuss something with my patient." David jumped when he was mentioned, apparently zoned out.

"Oh, um, of course! I'll come back and see if you need anything, Max!" Max only nodded in response.

When the door creaked shut, Callahan turned to look at Max.

"So, what's going on? I know you're in pain still, but anything in particular?"

Max sighed and looked away.

"Kid, look, I told you, you're gonna be alright. But how exactly am I supposed to treat you if you don't tell me what the fuck is screwing you up? I mean, is someone abusing you? Because I won't tell the police if you don't want me too." He was lying, of course.

"No, it's my...it's _nothing_ , alright?! God!"

"Well, whatever this nothing may be, you might want to go get it. Funny thing, that doctor-patient confidentiality. Nothing said here legally leaves this room." Callahan smirked at his remark.

Max seemed to perk up at this, sitting up straight and waiting expectantly for the doctor to unplug him from the array of medical equipment.

"I'm needed for a manhunt, kid. Try not to die."

Max sprang out of bed to go retrieve his prized possession.


End file.
